A/N: At this point I'm just finding fanart I like and putting it up there^. For most of these they probably won't be related.

     Sunflower heads bobbed in the wind, yellow starbursts in the otherwise bleak surroundings.

     "Wow," said Richie, surveying the broken-down well house. "It is weird being back here."

     "Speak for yourself," Eddie said with a hollow laugh. "I have to walk by every day." He decided not to mention how he'd always speed walk past the house, looking over his shoulder every five seconds- half-expecting the leper to crawl out from underneath the porch and drag him through the house, into the sewers, and back to It.

     They continued down Neibolt Street, trying to avoid looking at the house, as though it would stare back with giant orange eyes that would swallow them whole.

     They paused a few yards short of the link fence. "Shit," Eddie said, sighing. A powerline laid overturned, crushing the wire. It must've been downed by the recent storm.

     "Hey, you fucking flamers!"

     Eddie stiffened and Richie whipped around, coming face to face with Henry Bowers and his goons. Richie sighed, trying to appear unconcerned.

     "What's wrong, Henny? Need some more birth control pills for when you and Patrick-"

     "Richie," Eddie hissed. "Shut up!"

     Henry's face turned a brighter shade of red than Bev's hair. He flexed his fingers as though itching to wrap them around Richie's neck. "What'd you say, faggot? Huh?" He shoved Richie, knocking him hard to the ground. "You wanna say that again?"

     "You oughta clean out your ears, me foine foine man," Richie's mouth blabbered on like a runaway train, unable to stop to save his own life. "They're overflowing with bullshit."

     Faster than Richie could've possibly moved, Henry swung a punch directly at his nose, knocking his glasses to the ground.

     "No!" Eddie shrieked, leaping towards them. He must've actually gotten a good hit or two in, because Henry jerked back and shoved him to the ground.

     They were moving closer to the fence. Eddie noticed too, as he sucked in a breath, whimpering slightly. Richie got shakily to his feet. "Leave him-"

     "Fuck off!" Henry roared, and Patrick shoved his knee on top of Richie, pinning him to the ground and grinning in the unsettling way that only Patrick could.

     "Don't you worry, faggot," Patrick hummed. "Hen can slice you up too. But first, he's gotta take care of your boyfriend." He shook up the can he was holding and placed his lighter in front of it, spraying a jet of white-hot flames over Richie's head that singed the tips of his hair.

     Eddie was only a few feet from the fence and dangerously close to the overturned power line. Henry grabbed the collar of his shirt.

     Richie supposed Henry had only meant to throw him against the fence, make it easier to beat him up. Or maybe he hadn't understood the magnitude of the power line next to them.

     Regardless, Eddie was thrown against the fence.

     The effects were instantaneous. Eddie fell to the ground, limbs spasming wildly. As Richie strained and struggled against Patrick, he went still.

     "Eds!" Richie screamed. "Eds! Eds!"

     Belch looked at Henry, brief terror crossing his features. "Jeez, Henry, we didn't- we didn't kill him, did we?"

     "Fuck," Henry muttered, breathing shallowly. He looked at the others. "Let's get the fuck out of here, come on!"

     Patrick reluctantly released Richie, dashing away with the others. The instant he let go, Richie raced towards Eddie's limp form. "Eds!"

     Eddie didn't respond. His eyes were closed, his head lolling to the side. Frantically, Richie checked his neck for a pulse.

     "Oh god, oh fuck, oh no no no no . . ." he breathed. Where there should've been a steady beat, he was met with nothing. Silence.

     Richie's breath hitched and shook. He'd never performed CPR, only seen it on TV and posters, but what choice did he have at this point.

     His brain kicked into high gear. 30 rapid chest compressions, 2 breaths, check for pulse. 30 rapid chest compressions, 2 breaths, check for pulse. 30 rapid chest compressions, 2-

     Just as he leaned forwards again, Eddie's eyes flew open. He gasped for air, trying (and failing) to sit up. And now, Richie could panic, now he could sob, because Eddie's life wasn't in immediate danger. He curled up next to him, glasses fogging up as a waterfall of tears flowed freely from his face.

     "You- you were dead-" he choked.

     "Rich-"

     "Your heart stopped-"

     "Richie!"

     Finally, Richie sputtered into silence. He sat up, wiping his eyes under his glasses. "How- how d'you feel, Eds?"

     "Honestly?" Eddie winced. "Like shit. My head's pounding. And everything's numb. And I was just dead." He gingerly sat up and leaned on Richie, nuzzling his arm with his head. "We, uh. We should probably go to the doctor. Just to make sure."

     Richie nodded. "Should I call your mom?"

     "God, no. Can you imagine what she'd do if she knew I just got fucking electrocuted?"

     Eddie tried to stand again. "Ow. Fuck."

     Richie swooped down and picked him up. "Gotcha, Spaghetti Man!" He held Eddie gently. He was heavy, but still much lighter than the average kid their age.

     "Fucking let go of me, Trashmouth! I can fucking walk."

     Richie nodded seriously. "I'm sure you can, Eddo Spagheddo, me foine foine man. But ah say, ah say, it's much more romantic this way, isn't it?"

     Eddie's face flushed. "Fuck you, Trashmouth," he said decidedly, settling himself more comfortably in Richie's arms.

     "Oooh, maybe another time, Eds, I promised your mom I'd see her tonight."

     "Fuck- beep fucking beep, Trashmouth!" Eddie said, his face turning- if possible- even redder.